Monday, 11 July 2016

Wimbledon 2016: Andy Murray nerveless against Milos Raonic

The strangest thing of all was that, in the end, it wasn't even that anxious.

If
Andy Murray's first Wimbledon title had a giddy, dream-like quality,
sealed with a tortuous final act, his second was sport as a peerless
demonstration, a nerveless execution.
You could almost enjoy it. You could almost relax.As his 6-4 7-6 (7-3) 7-6 (7-2) victory over a bemused Milos Raonic sank in, the 29-year-old buried his face in his towel and wept like a man overwhelmed by it all.
It
was an image at odds with everything that had gone before. This was a
fortnight of total control, a campaign almost without flaws, a final
assault where every objective was taken exactly as planned.
Two
sets lost in two weeks. Only two break points conceded in almost three
hours. An opponent who had hit 137 aces in his previous six matches kept
down to just eight in the entire contest.
If it appeared almost
cold-blooded in its brilliance, the warm golden glow from this win will
spread far beyond a celebratory Centre Court.

In
an unparalleled era for British sport - a record-breaking haul from an
unforgettable Olympics, a first Tour de France win and then two more,
Ryder Cups won home and away, Lions series taken - Murray has now
produced two of its most sacred days.
We can count ourselves
blessed to have witnessed them. A men's singles title at Wimbledon was
always the holy grail, impossible to even imagine for most of the 77
years. Men had lived and died without anyone getting close.
Now it
has happened twice, and in such circumstances that only the perennially
pessimistic could not imagine similar scenes on future summer days.
Murray, hugging the old gold trophy so tightly to his chest that
bolt-cutters could not have prised his arms away, looked a man with no
intention of ever letting go.
Centre Court has not always felt this way for him. It was where he cried in defeat to Roger Federer in 2012,
where he suffered death by tie-break to Andy Roddick in 2009, where he
was overwhelmed by Rafael Nadal in successive semi-finals over the next
two years. Even after the wonder of 2013 came quarter-final defeat
Grigor Dimitrov and the perfection of Federer in the semi-final a year
ago.
On Sunday it was once again his sun-kissed domain. And while 2013 may
never be matched for emotional impact, for its first man back on the
moon wonder, for its stop-the-clocks shock, this second win is arguably a
greater achievement still.
Since the defeat of Novak Djokovic three years ago
there has been surgery on his back and a brutal dissection of his game
in the three Grand Slam finals where the two have met again. Murray
appeared doomed to be the most gifted of stooges, a brilliant player
denied his rightful rewards by the misfortune of playing all his 10 Slam
finals against two of the greatest talents in history.
Djokovic's recent supremacy has cowed other men, left other contenders wondering what else they could possibly do.
Murray,
at a stage of his career where he is financially comfortable and
reputationally secure, has instead pushed harder. A stronger second
serve, a faster forehand. A greater consistency, a renewed resolve.
Each
of those and more came together on Sunday afternoon. It is unfair to
call Raonic a tennis robot, for he too has added sweet elements to his
game, displayed more than just a car-crusher serve in fighting through
to his first Grand Slam final.
There is romance too in his
back-story, if not the same saga that Murray has created: the immigrant
kid with non-sporting parents, the outsider who had to train at 6am and
11pm when coming through because it was the only time his family could
afford the practice courts.
On Sunday Murray ripped out his
circuit-boards. A serve that has been unstoppable all tournament was
returned with impossible ease. A volleying game that took him past
Federer on Friday was first damaged then dismantled. A man who has moved
better in this fortnight than ever before was left looking heavy-legged
and unhappy.
Murray had broken him in the seventh game of the
first set when the Canadian put a simple volley into the net. But it was
in a game Raonic eventually won that perversely produced the moment
that best summed up the match: 4-3 in the second set, a hammering 147
mph serve, the second fastest in championship history, returned by
Murray as if hit in slow-motion, followed up by a backhand pass that
reduced his opponent to audience member, to powerless bystander.
It was one of so many backhand winners, one of so many brilliant
returns, that even had Djokovic been across the net once again you
sensed the result may have been the same.
Raonic and Murray had
played five tie-breaks before this final. Raonic had won four of them.
In the two here, Murray was 5-0 up before the younger man could blink,
his defence outstanding, his shot selection perfect.
Gone was the
introverted, sometimes disconsolate figure who can appear at war with
himself when things turn bad. There was shouting, and there were pumping
fists, but all of it channelling inner warrior rather than teenager, a
man in maturity assured of everything at his feet.
Throughout it
all, Ivan Lendl, his totem of a coach, sat watching with all the obvious
passion of a Easter Island monolith. Then, because it was that sort of
day, he too cracked, tears in the eyes as his charge raised his arms to
the south London skies.
Because that is what Murray has brought
to his faithful watchers: torment at times, and sometimes disappointment
and frustration, but also great pleasure in his artistry and
achievements. And on days like this, days most of us could once never
imagine, a happiness that will remain long after the celebrations and
eulogies have died away.